


darkroom

by simmer (lemonpie)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Again this is a Mafia AU, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Martin, F/F, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker Friendship, M/M, Mafia Boss Elias Bouchard, Minor Character Death, Murder, Protective Martin Blackwood, Recreational Drug Use, Supernatural Elements, THIS IS GONNA BE A DOOZY, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonpie/pseuds/simmer
Summary: The guy that Martin saw, the first time he visited the Magnus Institute at the heels of his mentor, was short and lanky, with long hair and green eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul. Martin was in love the second he saw the man. The only problem? He belonged to Elias Bouchard, the most powerful man in the country, and Martin worked for his main rival.He had no doubt that if he even looked at the man wrong, he'd get his head blown off without warning. But still, he couldn't help but look. And maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like the man was looking back.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 60





	1. built to create, designed to destroy

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mafia au  
> if that doesnt appeal to you dont read it  
> also i do not have extensive knowledge into how the mafia works. most of what i've written here is written with creative liberties.

When Martin Blackwood was sixteen years old, his mother died. 

It wasn't sudden. She had been sick for a long time, and honestly, it had been a relief. But he was only sixteen, and he couldn't take care of himself, at least in the eyes of the law, so he was shunted off into foster care. And no-one wanted to adopt an almost-adult who carried a few extra pounds and who snarked back but only under his breath so that they couldn't actually get him in trouble for it. After going through five foster homes in as many weeks, he landed in the lap of Peter Lukas. 

The Lukas family was a well known one, with ties to the Fairchild and Cane families, and Martin had lived most of his life in poverty. 

So when Peter asked if he'd like to go with him, Martin didn't think twice about saying yes. Sometimes, when he thought back on it, he wondered how different his life would have been if he'd said no. But, well, no use dwelling on the past, and Martin had more important things to think about. 

\---

If he were being honest, Martin hated visiting Bouchard. He was twenty-three, almost, and he'd been with Peter for seven years, plenty long enough to secure his place as Peter's one and only right hand man. Didn't mean he had to like everything that Peter did, and one of the things Peter did a lot for reasons Martin could never quite wheedle out of him was visit Elias Bouchard. 

Bouchard was one of the most powerful men in the country. Not because he was rich, although he certainly was that, but because he had what Peter only called a "secret weapon." (Secretly, Martin just thought Peter found Bouchard hot, and didn't want to stop visiting him, but was too nervous to do it without Martin in tow in case he got shot. Or worse.) 

So here they were. Walking through the main hall of Bouchard's grand goddamn castle, when a prickling on the back of his neck caught Martin's attention. He knew better than to ignore it, especially in Bouchard's place, and turned his head. What he saw made his step stutter and his breath catch in his chest. Half-hidden behind a pillar, mostly in shadow, was the most beautiful man Martin had ever seen. He knew he held very little flame for women, but no-one had ever made him feel like this. All the breath whooshed out of his lungs at once, and he could do nothing but stare. 

Wide green eyes were set into a soft, brown face. The nose was thin, flanked by high, delicate cheekbones. The rest was hidden from him by the angle and the pillar, but he'd seen enough. Enough to know that whoever it was, he was dangerous, deeply dangerous, and very, very attractive. Not like Bouchard was attractive, which, Martin admitted grudgingly, he was, but in a wild, Fae-like way that made Martin want. Wanting anything here was dangerous, but Martin would have dropped out of the life when he turned eighteen if he didn't find danger at least a little bit attractive. 

He stared until he neck protested, and then he turned his head away, having committed to memory what little details of the man's face he could see. 

The man had stared back the entire time, silently watching him, and Martin shivered at just remembering that sharp, intense gaze. Like the man was planning to cut his face to shreds and was trying to figure out which piece to start with. It probably said a lot about him that the thought didn't really scare him, just made him interested. 

The meeting was as boring as ever. Martin had taken to leaning against the wall and staring out the window, halfway paying attention to the conversation but only for any sounds of alarm or aggression. Mostly, though, he was just thinking about that man. Who was he? Bouchard wasn't the type to allow people he didn't trust anywhere near him, especially not in his own domain. He thought he knew everyone under Bouchard's payroll already (he and Stoker got along very well on the rare times they were allowed close enough to interact) but maybe there was someone new he hadn't met before? It seemed unlikely. Bouchard was a stubborn bastard who resisted change until it became absolutely necessary, and even then he'd drag his heels. So the fact that there hadn't been anyone who had died or quit (and subsequently died) meant that it was unlikely that Bouchard had hired someone new. Therefore, it had to be someone that had already been working here. Bouchard wasn't the pimping type, so it didn't seem like the guy was a sell. 

It just didn't make any sense. 

"Martin, we're leaving." 

Martin jolted back to himself, having completely zoned out of the whole conversation. Peter seemed upset, which never boded well for whoever he was meeting with next, but Bouchard was sitting in his desk chair looking very satisfied with whatever they'd agreed upon. Martin pushed off the wall and turned his back to Elias, not wanting him to see the way he was scowling. 

"Oh, and Peter?" 

Peter and Martin both turned at once. "Tell your little side-show to keep his eyes _off_ of what's mine. Am I clear?"

Though Martin could tell he was utterly bewildered, he grunted his agreement and turned away again to leave the office. They wouldn't have a conversation about it here. Too many eyes, Peter would mutter, glancing around. Paranoid. Which was fair, when it came to Bouchard, but still frustrating, at least usually. Now, Martin wanted to stall for as long as possible because, weirdly, he wanted to keep the memory of the strange man to himself. He wanted to keep it a secret at least a while longer. 

He glanced about hopefully once they reached the entrance hall, but there was no sign of the man, and Martin couldn't help himself from frowning. He was a little disappointed, he had to admit. He'd hoped to get one last glance before they left, but, well, Martin had never been that lucky. 

"Spill." Peter growled at him once they were in the car heading back to the estate, and Martin shrugged, looking at the floor between his shoes. 

"I saw a guy." He said, quietly, and Peter looked out the window but Martin knew he was listening. "He was... Kind of short. Five eight, if I had to guess? Don't know if he was wearing shoes, though. Didn't see most of him. Not white. Dark hair, I think. Really big, really green eyes." What he wanted to say was _he was the most beautiful man I've ever seen and I really think I'm in love._ But he didn't say that. He couldn't say that, not to Peter. Especially not when Peter was staring at him, looking halfway between shocked and smug. It was a weird look.

"Holy shit." Peter laughed, shaking his head. "You actually _saw_ the Archivist."

"The what?" 

"I can't believe this. He let you see him."

"Peter! Who let me see who?" Usually, Martin wouldn't get away with talking to Peter like that, but it seemed like Peter was too distracted to notice or too happy to care. Or both. 

"The Archivist. Bouchard's _secret weapon._ I haven't even seen him. Bouchard keeps him hidden away. Don't know why. But you saw him! Ha!" 

Martin blinked. Once. Twice. The guy was tiny! Martin could probably snap him like a twig if he wanted, and _that_ was Bouchard's famed "secret weapon"? For some reason, Martin doubted that was everything. He didn't know anything about the guy. Didn't even know his name.

But he did know one thing. He had to see this Archivist again, even if it killed him. 

\---

In a word, Jon was... Confused. 

The man he had seen had been strange, to say the least. Not many people could hold his gaze without flinching, but that man could, and did, up until he rounded the corner and was out of sight. Jon didn't know him, hadn't seen him before, but then, when he had guests that he deemed unimportant he would send Jon away until they were gone again. 

If they were important, he'd have Jon laze around in a chair or in his lap, all daring and danger. But Peter Lukas wasn't important enough for that, so Jon had never actually met him, and therefore didn't know the name of his companion. The man had been tall and broad, but soft in a way Lukas wasn't. Clearly, he was good at his job, whatever that was, because Lukas permitted uselessness about as well as Elias did, which was to say, not at all. But still, he gave off this air of kindness that Jon couldn't ignore. He wanted to see the man again, even just to get a glimpse of him. He was curious, which he knew Elias liked in him, liked to keep his mind sharp. 

So he went to Elias after his meeting, prowling through the halls with a vicious enough glare that people mostly leapt out of his way when they saw him coming. Except Tim, of course, who saluted him and cheerfully said, "Morning, boss!" with enough sunshine in his voice that it made Jon's mouth twitch just a bit. Tim was good at that, but Jon was on a mission, and he wouldn't be distracted from it. Not right now. 

Tim was fine with that, always was, and just started whistling again as he walked past Jon. He was grateful for Tim, though. He'd have to remember to tell him that later. 

He went into Elias' office without knocking. Jon never knocked. Elias' office was as good as his and they both knew it. "That man." He said, without saying hello, not that Elias expected it of him. "Who was he?" 

"Which one?" Elias said, even though he Knew exactly who Jon was talking about. It was a rap to the knuckles, reminding Jon of his place, and he slumped, sitting in one of the chairs opposite Elias' desk. "The ginger one." 

"Martin Blackwood. He works for the Lukas family. Petty things, mostly, but he's not shy about getting his hands dirty." Elias said, and Jon mouthed the name to himself slowly. 

Martin. It felt nice in his mouth. 

"I want to see him." 


	2. i am the shiver in your lungs when you're out in the cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> badass martin alert. 
> 
> tw for abuse and mentions of drugs and guns. but this is a mafia au. so you knew that.

“No. Absolutely not.” 

Martin, all but huddled behind Peter, agreed wholeheartedly with that statement. Not that he had any say in it, of course, neither did Peter, but it was nice that his mentor was defending him. “It’s not happening, Elias.” 

“I’m afraid that’s not up to you or me, Peter.”

That was another strange thing. Peter and Bouchard calling each other by their first names. It wasn’t something people did in this line of work and it was _ odd,  _ that was all. Martin didn’t really want to speculate over what Peter did in his spare time, especially not if that something was Bouchard, and he trusted Peter to do what was best for them. But when Peter, through gritted teeth, said, “ _ Fine. _ ” Martin couldn’t help but ask, “Wait, what?” as Peter turned on his heel and stepped past Martin to leave. “Peter-” 

“Shush. I’ll be waiting outside.” 

There was nothing Martin could do but watch him go, other than break down and cry, which he wasn’t going to give Bouchard the satisfaction of seeing. 

“There.” Said Bouchard, in that slimy way of his that makes Martin want to knock his teeth out. “Now we can have a proper conversation, all three of us.” 

“Three?” He felt like an idiot, but all he could think was that there wasn’t three of them, it was just him and Bouchard since Peter had left, and if Bouchard meant a gun then Martin was as good as dead already and if he  _ didn’t  _ then Martin had absolutely no idea what he did mean and-

Someone was moving in the shadows. God, but that was terrifying. “I understand you’ve met my Archivist?” Bouchard said, leaning back in his chair. Martin couldn’t draw his eyes away from that patch of shadows, hoping beyond all hope that this was going where he thought it was going. That he was about to actually, properly meet this  _ secret weapon  _ of Bouchard’s. When he didn’t answer, Bouchard had the gall to actually laugh. “Yes, he does have that effect, doesn’t he? Jon, come on, now. Don’t play with the poor boy.” 

A bit of Martin was offended at being called  _ boy,  _ but most of him was delighted that he now had a name to put to those eerie green eyes. Jon. It suited the face he had seen, somehow, the face that he was seeing again as the man slunk out of the shadows to stand at Bouchard’s side. 

“Hi.” He said, his voice soft and raspy, and it sent shivers down Martin’s spine. Not the good kind. 

“Er- Hi.” He returned, after a moment, because Peter had drilled into him that the worst thing you could do to someone like Bouchard, and he presumed to Bouchard’s people, was be rude. He didn’t stand for it. None of them did. “I’m Martin.”

“I know.” 

And wasn’t  _ that  _ both exhilarating and creepy as all hell? The man - Jon, he reminded himself - smiled at him. It was a very small thing, but it was there alright, and it made Martin smile back despite himself, despite being able to feel Bouchard’s eyes on him like a physical weight. He was playing a dangerous game, but he’d been playing dangerous games since he first met Peter, so this was just one more game of chicken. 

“Now, then, Martin.” Bouchard said, folding his hands together on his desk. “This is Jon. Jon, Martin.” Jon nodded slightly, still smiling that tiny smile. “Martin, I understand you’re quite smitten with my Archivist.” It didn’t get past Martin that this was the second time Bouchard had used the possessive form.  _ My  _ Archivist. Martin didn’t even know what an Archivist was! 

“Er- What? I mean- We’ve never met before.” Martin said, confused, but under that, he was deeply afraid. If this was seen as stepping on toes, he was a dead man walking, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think that Bouchard would make it easy on him. “I only saw him once.”

“And yet, here we are.” 

Here indeed. 

“So, Martin. I have a proposition for you.” That got Martin’s attention, and he finally dragged his eyes away from Jon to look at Bouchard. Offering  _ Martin  _ something when Peter wasn’t even here was dangerous and Bouchard knew it. “My proposition is this. Stay  _ away  _ from my Archivist, and maybe I won’t ruin you and your precious little Lukas.” If it were anyone else, Martin would call bluff, but this is  _ Elias fucking Bouchard,  _ and Bouchard really could ruin them, if he tried. This was like a puppy yapping at a lion. God. What had he gotten himself into? 

“Yeah. Yes- Of course.” He said, hurriedly, nodding. “I won’t. Go near him, I mean.” It hurt a little to admit that, because Jon was magnetic, and he couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, but if it meant keeping himself and Peter safe, he’d probably agree to give Bouchard his left kidney, and remove it himself to boot. He knew that was why Peter had kept him around all this time. Loyalty. He had never once strayed. 

Looking into those luminous green eyes, he thought that maybe, just maybe, it was time to stray. Just a bit. 

\---

“I like him.” 

It had been quiet for almost fifteen minutes after Martin left, and Jon knew that Elias had presumed he wasn’t going to say anything about it. He revelled in being able to catch Elias off guard after all these years. It amused him. 

“You… Like him.” Elias confirmed, and Jon nodded with a little  _ mhmm!  _ of agreement. “Of course you do.” It was fond, and Jon smiled, because he knew Elias didn’t really want to hurt Martin, or Jon. So he assumed he was going to get what he wanted, and Elias would call Peter again and tell him to bring Martin back, and Jon would get to do as he pleased. 

When Elias said, “No.” Jon jolted, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my Archivist, but Peter is far too dangerous. I don’t trust that he won’t kill you the second he gets close enough to do so without me here to stop him.” 

“But-” 

“No, Jon.” Elias said, turning to look at him, and Jon shrank back under the harsh gaze, meek under the force of it. “Oh, Archivist. Come here.” Now his voice went soft, and he held out an arm to hold Jon to his side. “I didn’t mean to snap. I only worry for your safety, you know that.” 

Jon really did think that was true, but he wasn’t so stupid as to believe Elias worried for his safety because he was worried about Jon. He worried, because without Jon, Elias had no way to frighten people into obedience. That was all he was for, really. 

Too dangerous his ass. He’d show Elias  _ dangerous. _

\---

The deal wasn’t going so smooth. The usual dealer had been dispatched the day previous, and Peter couldn’t find anyone else to step in on such short notice, so instead they got Martin. And, judging by the amount of guns being waved around, they weren’t too happy about it. Still, Martin wasn’t too worried. If they shot him, they knew that each of them would be torn apart by Peter. 

“That’s the price, fellas. Take it or leave it.” Martin said, over the sound of them shouting at him and at each other. He was calm, the bag at his feet, straps up, ready for him to grab should one of them make a move for it. “I get the cash, I give you the bag. I don’t get the cash, and I see if there’s anyone else who could use this much grade-A cocaine.” The waving guns focused on him, and he blinked, calm, unflustered. Inside, though, the lizard part of his brain was howling at him to run, to survive by any means, and he had to shove that part down deep so he didn’t turn into a cowering, blubbering mess. 

One of the men, the one Martin had hesitantly assumed was the leader, stepped forward, jabbing the gun at Martin, who raised an eyebrow. “You tell Lukas-” He started, and then, when Martin cleared his throat, fell quiet. 

Now, Martin wasn’t the most threatening guy in the world, but he was big. A significant amount bigger than this man in both height and sheer body mass, and if it came down to it, Martin was certain he could win at least a physical fight with this man. 

“I won’t be telling Lukas anything.” He said mildly, reaching down to pick up the bag. “If you boys aren’t going to pay up, I’ll take my business elsewhere.” 

He got as far as turning around and stepping away before one of the men called, “Wait!” 

“I knew you’d see it my way.” Martin said, channelling as much of Bouchard as he possibly could in that moment. The men handed over the cash, and he handed over the bag of cocaine. Transaction completed, Martin checked his phone to see where his pickup was going to be, when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. 

He looked up, because he was absolutely certain he’d just gotten sight of a pair of bright green eyes set into a soft brown face. Sure enough, he saw someone rounding the corner out of sight, someone with long, dark hair and a familiar crest on the back of his jacket. It was Jon, of that he had no doubt, but why would he be here if Bouchard had warned  _ Martin  _ off? It didn’t make any sense. 

After about fifteen seconds of hesitation, he started after the person he was absolutely certain was Jon, but when he got around the corner, there was no-one in sight. But it had been Jon. There wasn’t anyone else it could have been. 

Resolving to talk to Peter about it, he turned around and started back the way he had come, hoping he’d get picked up somewhere along the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really glad you guys are enjoying this one! its one of my favourites. i may not reply to every comment, but i do read all of them! <3

**Author's Note:**

> thankies for reading! hope you enjoyed and please consider giving it a funky lil kudos maybe even a comment


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